CO 


o 


i--::i.t  -iJ^       -^  .  .-./jr.'.j. 


-^-^  ^-~^'  -■■>--  -'^^:^;-:Mm|i:)^^/^.^^...;^;.i^  ..:>^l--.  .■.:.-...^: 


American  Toyr,    1893, 


ELEO/^ORa   DUSE, 


UNDER    THE    MANAGEMENT    OE 


Messrs.  CARL  AND  THEODOR  ROSENFELD. 


tFERNANDE^i^ 


By    VICTORIEN  ,  SARDOU. 


|The  Only  Correct  and  Authentic  vSynopsis  of  the  Play  ;    taken  from  the 
Prompt  Book  of  Signof.a  Eleonora  Duse  ;    together  with  a 
Sketch  of  Her  Life,    by  Antonio  Bracco. 


PUBLISHED    AND    COPYRIGHTED    BY 

CARL    AND    THEODOR    ROSENFELD, 
1127    Broad  waj'.    New    York. 

1893. 


TWENTY-FIVE    CENTS   A.    COPY. 


"KUUn  THK  r()>K  MOKI.D."   1  SN.iy-.  I.y   l.ui-  Kiiii'ivf.      liMiislaic-il   from   the   Horman  by 
Helen  I>.  "IritUtr.     411)  Panes,  (loth,  $i.)o.     .Mailed  ii|)oii  receipt  iif  price.     Published  by 

C.  K.  'I  KKTiiAtj,  109  K.  14th  St.,  New  York. 


STEINWAY  &  SONS 

HEG   TO    ANNOUNCE    THAT 

HIS     MAJESTY 

EMPEROR  WILLIAM   IL  OF  GERMANY, 

By  patent  dated  June  13th,  1892,  has  deigned  to  appoint  the  piano 

manufiicturor  Wh-liam  Steinway,  the  head  of  the  house  of 

Steinway  &  Sons,  New  York,  piano  manufacturer  to 


THE  ROYAL  COUET  OF  PRUSSIA. 


S'TEiNWAY  &  Sons 

llcjr  further  to  aiinoimce  that  by  Royal  Warrants 
dated  respectively  May  29,  June  i8,and  ()ct. 
4,  i8i)o;  they  were  honored  by  the  appoint- 
ments   of    Piano    Manufacturers    to 

HER    MAJESTY 
THE    qUEEN    OF    ENGLAND, 

ANU 

THEIR  ROYAL  HIGHNESSES 
THE  PRINCE  AND  PRINCESS  OF  WALES. 


IIJ.USTRATHD  CATALOGUES  MAILED  FREE  O.V  APPLICATION. 


Warerooms,  Steinway  Hall,  107-ni  East  14th  Street,  New  York. 

EUROPKAN    DBPOXS: 


STEINWAY  HALL, 

&  17  Lower  Seymour  St.,  Portnian  Sq.,  W. 
LONDOiW,  ENGLAND. 


STEI>  WAY'S  PIAXOFABRIK, 

St    Pauli,  Xeue  Rosen-Slrasse,  20-24, 
HAMBURG,  GERMANY. 


Third  Thousand.  ANTOX  RUBINSTEIN'S  new  book,  entitled:  "  A  Conversation  on  Music," 
translated  for  the  author  by  Mrs.  John  P.  Morgan,  has  just  been  published.  i6mo,  cloth,  $1.00.  Copy- 
right, 1892.     For  sale  by  all  booksellers  and  music  dealers,  or  mailed  upon  receipt  of  price. 

Chas.  v.  Tkeibak,  Steinway  Hall,  New  York. 


American  Tour,    I  893, 


OF 


ELEOyMORa   DUSE, 


UNDER    THE    MANAGEMENT    OF 


Messrs.  CARL  AND  THEODOR  ROSENFELD. 


--H$h'l€»~ 


#  FERNANDE  # 


By    VICTORIEN    SARDOU, 

// 


The  Only  Correct  and  Authentic  Synopsis  of  the  Play  ;    taken  from  the 

Prompt-Book  of  Signora  Eleonora  Duse  ;    together  with  a 

Sketch  of  Her  Life,   by  Antonio  Bracco. 


i^. 


PUBLISHED    AND    COPYRIGHTED    BY 

CARL    AND    THEODOR    ROSENFELD, 
1127    Broadway,    Ne^^v    Yorlc, 

1893. 

Stuyvhsant  Press, 

154  &  156  West  27th  Street, 

New  York. 


REPERTORY. 


DiVORCONS, 

Adrienne  Lecouvreur, 

Anthony  and  Cleopatra, 

Tristi  Amori, 

Fedora, 
Camille, 

Fernande, 

Nora  cdolus  house), 
La  Locandiera, 

Francillon, 
La  Femme  de  Claude, 
Le  Vergini, 

Frou-Frou, 

Cavalleria  Rusticana, 
Odette. 


MEMBERS   OF  COMPANY. 


Cavalliere  Flavio  Ando, 

Messrs.  Alberto  Buffo, 

"  Antonio  Galliam, 

"  Ettore  Maryanti, 

"  Leo  Orlandini, 

•"  Silvia  Bonivento, 

"  Nicola  Cartesi, 

"  Napoleone  Bianco, 

"  GlAOCHINO    GraSSI, 

*'  RiCCARDO    CaIMMI, 

*'■  Pietro  Betti, 

^'  Alessandro  Sabatto, 

*'•  Alfredo  Geri, 

■*'  Mario  Alberici. 


Mesdames  Giuseppina  Tolarzi, 
Emma  Grammatica, 
Guglielmina  Margargari, 
Gemma  Grassi, 
Eleonora  Ropolo, 
Gristina  Buffi, 
Anna  Alberici, 
Virginia  Alberici, 
GiLDA  Bonivento. 


M105458 


Fe 


rnande: 

Drama  in  Four  Acts,  by   Victorien  Sardou. 

CAST  OF  CHARACTERS. 

The  Marquis  Andr6  D'Arcis  is  a  genuine  Parisian  viveur,  whose  fine 
character  is  shown  by  his  marriage  with  Fernande  Senechal,  but  still 
more  by  the  magnanimity  with  which  he  pardons  a  false  step  of  her 
past  life.  As  a  bachelor  he  led  the  loose  life  of  men  of  his  caste, 
but  after  his  marriage  he  becomes  a  model  husband. 

Clotilde,  a  young  widow,  who  loves  the  Marquis,  becomes  aware  that  he  is 
enamored  of  another  one  she  sheltered  in  her  house  and  whose  life 
has  not  been  without  blemish.  After  having  artfully  wrung  the 
confession  from  the  Marquis  that  he  loves  her  no  longer,  she  concocts 
her  plan  of  revenge — a  plan  unworthy  of  her  character  and  explicable 
only  as  the  result  of  jealously. 

PoMEROL,  the  lawyer,  once  a  lively  bachelor,  but  now  a  good  husband, 
sympathetic  and  kind  hearted,  is  the  "deus  ex  machina,"  who 
appears  at  the  right  moment  and  averts  disaster. 

Georgette,  his  jealous  little  wife,  who  hunts  for  proofs  of  her  husband's 

disloyalty,  but  is  otherwise  harmless  and  devoted. 

Madame  de  Brionne,  ^  xt  •         *    ..  u  ..  •     ^.u        i 

„       T^  '  (Unimportant  persons  whom  we  meet  in  the  salons 

The  Bareness.  )  of  the  Marquis. 

Madame  de  Senechal,  the  widow  of  a  merchant  who  has  died  leaving  his 
affairs  in  a  complicated  state,  comes  to  Paris,  gets  into  bad  company 
and  finally  opens  a  gambling  salon.  She  is  a  weak  woman,  who  would 
like  to  change  her  evil  way  of  living,  but  who  is  always  dissuaded  by 
the  people  who  gather  at  her  house. 

De  Civry,  a  young  nobleman.  Introduced  into  the  house  of  Madame 
Senechal  by  a  man  who  has  forced  his  attentions  upon  him,  he  meets 
Pomerol  in  her  ante-room  and  warned  by  him,  is  energetic  enough  to 
tear  himself  away. 

Fernande,  daughter  of  Madame  Senechal's.  This  young  girl  grows  up  amid 
the  most  demoralizing  surroundings,  yet  rernains  unsullied  until  one  of 
the  scoundrels,  profiting  by  her  mother  s  imprisonment,  induces  her  to 
sacrifice  her  virtue  as  the  prize  for  her  mother's  liberation.  She 
makes  an  unsuccessful  attempt  on  her  life. 

Barcassin,  whom  we  meet  in  the  salons  of  Madame  Senechal,  is  a  sculptor 
who  has  for  years  designed  to  model  a  statue  of  Ariadne,  but  has  as 
yet  not  even  so  much  as  touched  the  clay. 

Amanda,  Aster,  Gibraltar  and  Therese,  cocottes. 

The  "  Commander,"  Don  Ramire,  an  adventurer  and  swindler. 

The  worthy  "  Mama.  Santa  Cruz,"  one  of  the  ensemble  at  the  salon  of 
Madame  Senechal.  Her  specialty  is  the  harmless  sport  of  pocketing 
all  the  sugar  that  is  off"ered  to  her. 

Frederic  is  the  servant  who  is  "posted"  on  everything  and  who  has  to  sound 
the  alarm  in  case  of  a  police  visitation. 

ROQUEViLLE  is  the  knave  who  has  made  himself  the  tyrant  of  Madame 
Senechal  and  her  daughter  through  "  his  good  connections."  He 
causes  the  mother  to  be  imprisoned  in  order  to  force  the  daughter  ta 
yield  to  his  solicitations  as  the  prize  of  her  mother's  liberation. 


ARGUMENT. 


The  Marquis  Andr^  d'Arcis  loves  Clotilde,  a  young  widow. 
She  passionately  reciprocates  this  feeling  in  the  assurance 
that  his  whole  heart  is  hers,  nor  does  she  in  the  least  attempt 
to  conceal  her  intimacy  with  him,  although  her  good  name 
suffers  through  it.  After  the  lapse  of  some  years  the  Mar- 
quis' ardor  gradually  cools.  Andre  regards  his  relations  to  the 
young  and  accomplished  widow  in  the  light  of  his  many  other 
liaisons,  and  gradually  becomes  tired  of  even  pretending  to 
love  her.  By  chance  he  one  evening  attends  a  performance 
in  the  suburban  theatre  of  Montmartre.  His  attention  is  at- 
tracted by  a  girl  in  one  of  the  boxes,  by  whose  beauty  and 
childlike  innocence  and  grace  he  is  carried  away.  He  vainly 
attempts  to  make  her  acquaintance.  She  disappears  immedi- 
ately after  the  performance.  A  few  days  later,  after  having 
vainly  searched  all  Paris  for  her,  he  meets  her  on  the  street, 
yet  she  again  eludes  him  by  entering  a  store  and  leaving  by  a 
different  exit.  The  Marquis  now  redoubles  his  efforts,  and  in 
order  to  be  unmolested,  he  tells  Clotilde  that  business  calls 
him  to  Blois  for  some  days.  By  arranging  with  a  friend  in 
Blois  to  dispatch  letters  for  him  to  her  at  regular  intervals  he 
makes  Clotilde  believe  that  he  is  sojourning  in  Blois  while  he 
is  really  hunting  for  his  unknown  beauty  in  the  streets  of 
Paris.  An  anonymous  letter  informs  Clotilde  of  the  Marquis' 
actions.  In  order  to  convince  herself  she  resolves  to  go  to 
the  theatre  Montmartre,  where  he  is  said  to  pass  his  evenings. 
On  her  way  to  the  theatre  an  accident  happens,  her  carriage 
nearly  running  over  a  young  girl.  Fortunately  she  is  pulled 
out  from  under  the  wheels  before  any  harm  is  done,  and  Clo- 
tilde, who  pities  the  beautiful  and  innocent-looking  girl,  takes 
her  into  her  carriage'.     Her  interest   still    increases  when   she 


learns' t'h'at'the'^jouiVg  girl  has  sought  to  take  her  life  and  had 
thrC)>X<tt 'h^VjelfjuifcJ!^* the  wheels.  The  young  would-be  sui- 
'cidd  is'Fernancle,' t'he  only  daughter  of  Madame  Senechal,  the 
widow  of  a  Bordeaux  merchant,  who  had  been  ruined  by  un- 
lucky speculations,  had  shot  himself  in  consequence,  and  had 
left  his  wife  and  daughter  in  the  most  straightened  circum- 
stances. Under  an  assumed  name  Mad.  Senechal  came  to 
Paris  and  strove  in  every  possible  way  to  gain  a  living. 
Forced  by  the  stress  of  circumstances  she  sank  lower  and 
lower  until  she  welcomed  at  her  house  every  evening  a  mis- 
cellaneous company,  ostensibly  for  table  d'hote,  but  in  reality 
for  gambling  purposes.  Her  house  soon  became  a  dangerous 
gambling  hell,  and  through  the  presence  of  fallen  women  also 
a  house  of  ill-fame.  Once  already  they  have  been  surprised  by 
the  police,  who  imprisoned  Mad.  Senechal.  She  is  liberated 
through  the  agency  of  one  of  her  guests,  Roqueville,  (an  arch 
knave,  who  has  gained  an  ascendancy  over  her  by  threatening 
to  ex  ose  her  to  the  police),  but  she  has  to  pay  a  terrible  price 
for  it — Fernande's  virtue ;  and  it  is  Fernande  who  has  sought 
to  throw  herself  under  the  wheels  of  Clotilde's  carriage. 

In  the  salons  of  Mad.  Senechal  we  meet  the  lawyer  Philipp 
de  Pomerol.  This  man,  who  formerly  was  a  viveur  and  gam- 
bler, has  since  become  a  model  husband,  and  it  is  only  in  the 
fulfillment  of  a  promise  that  we  find  him  for. once  in  his  old 
haunts.  He  has  vowed  to  Fernande  that  he  would  deliver  her 
from  her  vicious  surroundings,  and  has  now  come  to  redeem 
his  promise.  Here  he  meets  his .  cousin  Clotilde  who  has 
taken  Fernande  home  after  her  attempted  suicide,  and  who 
has  now  come  to  see  if  she  can  be  of  assistance  to  the  poor 
girl.  Pomerol  explains  to  Clotilde  where  she  is,  and  she  pro- 
mises her  aid  in  his  undertaking. 

After  Mad.  Senechal's  liberation  Pomerol  takes  her  as  well 
as  her  daughter  to  Clotilde,  who  assigns  to  them  apartments 
}n  her  house. 

Clotilde's  unrequited  love  for  Andr^  causes  her  great  sor- 
row. By  pretending  indifference  she  succeeds  in  making  him 
"confess  that  his  affection  for  her  has  waned,  and  that  he  loves 


another.  To  her  great  chagrin  she  learns  that  Fernande, 
whom  he  has  just  discovered  through  a  window  sitting  at  the 
pianOj  is  the  object  of  his  affection.  Clotilde,  chafing  inwardly 
at  these  disclosures,  but  disguising  her  real  sentiments,  intro- 
duces Fernande  to  the  Marquis,  who,  she  says,  has  just  arrived 
from  the  province,  and  asks  them  both  to  dine  with  her. 

Their  marriage  is  Clotiide's  aim.  She  leaves  the  Marquis 
in  the  dark  in  regard  to  Fernande's  past  life,  while  she  makes 
Fernande  believe  that  Andre  knows  everything.  Thus  she  in- 
tends to  wreak  vengeance  upon  him.  The  wedding  day  ap- 
proaches. Fernande,  who  is  troubled  with  serious  misgivings, 
shortly  before  the  marriage  ceremony  writes  a  letter  to  the 
Marquis. in  which  she  acquaints  him  with  the  unfortunate  epi- 
sode of  her  life.  Andre  in  his  happy  mood  omits  reading  the 
letter,  and  the  clever  Clotilde  succeeds  in  making  him  give  it 
to  her.  Fernande  now  goes  to  the  altar  happy  in  the  assur- 
ance that  Andre  knows  everything  and  still  has  not  withdrawn 
his  love  from  her.  Pomerol,  who  on  that  very  day  has  re- 
turned from  a  long  journey  and  learns  of  the  wedding  about 
to  be  celebrated,  and  not  knowing  who  the  bride  is,  invites 
Clotilde  to  go  with  him  to  the  ceremony.  She  delays  until 
the  ceremony  is  over,  and  then  triumphantly  tells  Pomerol 
that  she  intends  to  revenge  herself  on  Andre  by  giving  him 
Fernande's  letter  and  thus  rendering  him  unhappy  forever. 
Pomerol  takes  the  letter  from  her  and  locks  her  up  in  a  room 
until  the  young  couple  have  departed  on  their  wedding  tour. 
After  their  return  they  lead  a  happy  life,  as  they  love  each 
other  tenderly.  Pomerol  does  everything  to  prevent  Clotilde 
from  executing  her  revengeful  plans — all  in  vain.  She  watches 
her  chance  and  succeeds  in  disclosing  the  secret  to  Andrd  As 
he  is  going  to  give  her  the  lie  Fernande's  demeanor  conveys 
the  terrible  assurance  that  Clotilde  has  spoken  the  truth. 
Overwhelmed  with  grief  he  indignantly  bids  Fernande  to  leave 
the  house.  As  she  is  about  to  obey  Pomerol  appears,  gives 
her  letter  to  the  Marquis,  who  by  its  contents  is  convinced  of 
his  wife's  worth  and  innocence,  and  again  takes  her  to  his 
bosom. 


SYNOPSIS. 


ACT  I. 

The  First  Scene  is  enacted  in  the  salon  of  Madame  Sene- 
chal.  There  we  first  meet  the  lawyer  Pomerol,  who  has  come 
to  make  good  the  promise  he  gave  to  Fernande,  and  has  ex- 
plained to  him  by  Frederic  what  has  taken  place  during  his 
absence. 

';  The  Second  Scene  introduces  Barcassin  and  Amanda, 
guests  of  the  salon,  and  Barcassin  entertains  his  interlocutrix 
with  the  history  of  his  statue  of  Ariadne. 

In  the  Third  Scene  we  make  the  acquaintance  of  Aster, 
a  low  creature,  who  also  regularly  attends  these  sittings,  and 
who  regales  the  company  with  her  adventures  in  Baden- 
Baden. 

In  the  Fourth  and  Fifth  Scene  we  are  brought  in  con- 
tact with  several  other  representatives  of  these  "  salons," 
■  namely  Gibraltar  and  Don  Ramire,  the  Commander.  This 
adventurer  and  swaggerer  enters  the  salon  for  the  first  time, 
introduced  by  Gibraltar  as  a  rich  Egyptian,  while  Gibraltar 
.  relates  how  she  fleeced  him — Don  Ramire  lying  about  his 
wealth.  In  him  we  recognize  immediately  the  dangerous 
swindler  and  knave. 

The  Seventh  Scene  adds  another  couple  of  prison  candi- 
dates to  the  company,  Maresquier  and  Madame  Santa  Cruz. 
Frederic  brings  the  news  of  an  accident  to  Fernande,  who  has 
just  been  brought  home  in  the  carriage  of  an  unknown  lady, 
and  the  company  goes  to  dinner  without  waiting  for  Madame 
Senechal. 
'  '  In  the  Next  Scene  appears  Mr.  Civry,  the  young  noble- 
man on  whom  Anatole  has  forced  his  attention  and  invited  to 


the  salon.  Pomerol  warns  the  young  man  from  entering  the 
dining  hall  by  relating  to  him  the  history  of  his  life,  and  Civry 
has  enough  energy  to  turn  back. 

Just  as  Pomerol  in  the  Ninth  Scene  says:  "The  only 
good  that  can  come  from  a  fault  one  has  committed  is  to, 
warn  others  from  falling  into  the  same  error,"  Roqueville  ap- 
pears, the  tyrant  of  the  house,  to  whose  question  Pomerol 
coolly  replies  he  has  induced  the  young  man  to  leave. 

In  the  Next  Scene  Frederic  appears  and  announces  a 
lady  "who  is  apparently  too  decent  to  be  admitted  without 
ceremony."  At  the  instigation  of  Pomerol  who  thinks  the 
lady  dissembles,  she  is  admitted  by  Frederic,  and  Pomerol 
recognizes  her  as  his  cousin  Clotilde.  It  was  Clotilde's  team 
that  had  nearly  run  over  Fernande,  and  she  has  come  to  in- 
quire about  her  welfare.  Pomerol  explains  to  her  the  nature 
of  her  surroundings,  and  they  agree  ta  jointly  rescue  the  girl. 
Clotilde  also  informs  Pomerol  that  the  mishap  was  not  acci- 
dental. "  Oh,  madame,  I  did  not  drive  over  the  young  lady, 
but  she  threw  herself  under"  the  wheels,"  her  coachman  had  told 
her.  Pomerol  then  tells  his  cousin  the  whole  history  of  Fer- 
nande's  sufferings.  Clotilde  informs  him  that  on  the  strength 
of  an  anonymous  letter  she  is  on  her  way  to  the  Montmartre 
Theatre  to  surprise  Marquis  Andr(S,  her  faithless  lover. 
Pomerol  reproaches  Clotilde  for  paying  attention  to  this  letter, 
and  tells  her  what  kind  of  company  there  is  in  the  adjoining 
salon.  Clotilde,  impelled  by  curiosity,  would  like  to  pass  some 
hours  in  this  company,  and  prevails  on  Pomerol  to  permit  her 
to  enter  for  an  hour,  as  she  otherwise  refuses  to  act  for  Fer- 
nande. 

In  the  Next  Scene  Mad.  Senechal  appears  and  hears  from 
Clotilde  the  news  of  her  daughter's  accident.  She  relates  to 
Clotilde  in  what  straits  she  was  placed  after  the  suicide  of  her 
husband,  and  that  she  finally  found  herself  under  the  necessity 
of  opening  her  house  to  such  disreputable  company. 

Clotilde,  moved  to  pity  and  intending  to  help  Mad.  Sene- 
chal, begs  her  to  come  and  live  with  her,  which  offer  Mad. 
Senechal  accepts  with  effusive  thanks, 


In  the  Next  Scene  the  dihers  enter  the  salon,  and  We 
have  a  vivid  picture  of  the  frivolous  doings  and  conversation 
of  such  gatherings. 

After  Roqueville  has  given  Frederic  the  order,  "  See  that 
the  alarm  bell  works  and  be  on  the  lookout,"  the  gam- 
bling begins  in  an  adjoining  room.  While  the  company  sit 
down  to  the  game,  Clotilde,  who  has  been  regarded  with 
curiosity  by  the  members  of  the  demi-monde,  inquires  of 
Pomerol  about  the  singular  customs  of  the  gamblers,  who 
c;xplains  them  to  her. 

Pomerol  and  Clotilde  now  succeed  in  engaging  Fernande 
in  a  conversation.  She  promises  Pomerol  to  make  no  further 
attempt  at  suicide,  and  Clotilde  invites  her  to  come  to  her 
house  next  day. 

>  jFrom  the  adjoining  room  Roqueville's  voice  is  heard: 
"  The  police ! "  intermingled  with  the  cry  of  "  Leave  the 
money  where  it  is ! "  and  such  like.  After  the  roulette  has 
been  removed  Frederic  enters  and  says:  "Oh,  it's  nothing — a 
dog  barked  in  the  neighborhood  and  our  dogs  howled  to  keep 
him  company." 

yd  After  this  reassuring  piece  of  information  the  game  is  coti- 
tinued. 

-  Roqueville,  who  has  grown  suspicious  of  the  long  conver- 
sation between  Pomerol,  Clotilde  and  Fernande,  asks  the 
latter  what  the  conference  is  about  and  attempts  to  lead  her 
into  an  adjoining  room.  Pomerol  flies  at  the  rascal,  and  Mad. 
Senechal  requests  everyone  to  leave  her  house;  if  not  she 
will  call  the  police. 

i\<f  Amid  cries  of  "The Commander  has  pocketed  my  money/' 
and  the  threats  of  Roqueville  they  all  depart,  Pomerol  and 
Clotilde  following  them. 


ACT  II.  )-- 

We  are  in  the  comfortably  furnished  salon  of  Clotildie^ 
whom  we  find  in  conversation  with  Georgette,  Pomeroi'fi 
wife.  The  latter,  who  is  very  jealous,  has  come  to  her  experj?- 
enced  friend  to  tell  her  of  her  woes,  and  also  relates  what  droll 
adventures  her  jealousy  which,  after  all,  turned  out  to  be 
groundless,  has  led  to.  Clotilde  reassures  her  as  to  her  hus- 
band's loyalty,  and  Georgette  in  her  turn  tells  what  she  has 
heard  in  the  salon  of  Mons.  de  Brionne — sneering  rerriiarks 
about  the  marriage  of  Clotilde  and  the  Marquis  Andr^.  >/j  r 

In 'the  Second  Scene  we  find  Mad.  de  Brionne  herself; 
who  arouses  Clotilde's  jealousy  by  telling  her  that  the  Mar- 
quis is  not  in  Blois,  as  he  has  made  her  suppose,  but  in  Paris. 

In  the  Next  Scene  Clotilde  and  Georgette  quarrel  with 
Mad.  de  Brionne.  Their  conversation  is  interrupted  by 
Pomerol.  Georgette  attempts  to  create  a  scene  because  she  has 
found  a  package  of  women's  photographs  among  his  papers. 
Pomerol  allays  her  suspicions  by  explaining  that  the  photo- 
graphs are  exhibits  in  a  divorce-suit.  After  this  explanation 
Georgette  goes.  ;  ,• 

In  the  Fifth  Scene  Pomerol  tells  Clotilde  the  unfortun- 
ate episode  in  Fernande's  life,  and  confides  her  and  M^d. 
Senechal  under  Clotilde's  care,  as  he  must  leave  Paris  on 
business  for  some  time.  ;  :s 

Clotilde  assigns  apartments  in  her  house  to  them;  and 
Madame  Senechal  is  to  go  under  her  real  name  of  Madame 
La  Bri^re,  while  Fernande  is  to  be  called  Margaret. 

Eighth  Scene. — Clotilde  receives  a  telegram  from  Blois 
in  reply  to  her  inquiry :  "  The  Marquis  came  to  Blois  on 
Wednesday,  and  returned  to  Paris  the  next  morning." 

In  the  Ninth  Scene  we  find  Clotilde  soliloquizing.     It  is 


clear  to  her  from  the  Marquis'  coldness  that  he  loves  another. 
Just  then  the  Marquis  is  announced. 

Receiving  him  coldly  Clotilde,  by  cleverly  making  him 
believe  that  she  loves  him  no  longer,  succeeds  in  making  him 
confess  that  his  love  to  her  has  gradually  weakened  into 
friendship,  and  that  he  will  be  unhappy  until  he  can  find  his 
unknown  beauty  from  the  Montmartre  Theatre. 

Clotilde  conceals  her  real  feelings  from  the  Marquis. . 
They  take  leave  of  each  other  with  mutual  assurances  of 
eternal  friendship  and  the  mutual  promise  to  soon  find  for 
each  other  a  good  husband  and  wife.  Andrd  says  in  going: 
"  How  good  you  are,  Clotilde,  the  best  creature  on  earth ! 
And  if  I  had  not  loved  you  as  you  deserved,  I  would  learn  to 
now." 

In  the  Next  Scene  Clotilde  wholly  abandons  herself  to 
her  sorrow,  and  resolves  to  be  revenged.  On  Therese  telling 
her  that  the  Marquis  is  returning  she  thinks  that  he  could  not 
leave  her  after  all  and  is  overjoyed. 

Andr^  returns  and  with  great  exultation  tells  Clotilde  that 
he  has  found  his  unknown  beauty  in  her  own  house.  He  is 
most  happy  and  becomes  enthusiastic  over  the  beauty  and 
innocence  of  his  idol. 

Clotilde  is  amazed  that  it  should  be  the  very  girl  that  she 
has  rescued  from  shame,  who  has  estranged  her  lover  from 
her,  and  she  immediately  conceives  her  plan  of  revenge.  She 
tells  the  Marquis  that  Margaret  and  her  mother  had  come 
from  the  province  some  weeks  ago  in  rather  straightened  cir- 
cumstances. Her  father,  a  country  gentleman,  she  tells  him, 
had  met  with  a  fatal  accident  while  on  the  chase.  They  are 
old  acquaintances,  and  she  has  asked  them  to  live  with  her. 
She  sends  for  Margaret. 

In  the  Next  Scene  Fernande  appears  and  is  introduced  as 
Miss  Margaret  de  la  Briere. 

Clotilde  whispers  to  her:  "Try  to  please  the  Marquis.  I 
have  my  reasons  for  it."  She  entertains  the  Marquis  and 
Fernande  at  dinner, 


ACT  III. 

Pomerol  in  travelling  attire  appears^  at  Glotilde's  apart- 
iTient  in  search  of  his  wife.  He  has  just  returned  from 'a  trip, 
and  is  surprised  to  learn  that  she  is  here.  Georgette,  on 
entering,  leaps  into  his  arms.    "  • 

Georgette  tells  the  unsuspecting  Pomerol  that  Andre  an^ 
Margaret  are  to  be  married  on  that  day,  and  finally  has  an- 
other fit  of  jealousy.  Pomerol  is  about  to  hurry  home  to 
dress  for  the  ceremony  when  Andre  appears  to  tell  him  of  his 
marriage.    Pomerol  asks  after  Glotilde. 

Andre  exultingly  relates  how  at  last  after  a  search  of  sev- 
eral weeks  he  has  found  his  love,  and  how  nobly  Glotilde 
assisted  him.  Pomerol  takes  leave  of  Andre  and  is  about  to 
go;^but  is  called  back  by  Glotilde  who  has  just  observed  him. 
He  lauds  her  unselfishness,  and  she  then  becomes  aware  that 
he  does  not  know  who  Andrd's  bride  is. 

-Pomerol:  "No  woman  would  have  acted  as  you  did;    you 
deserve  to  be  worshipped." 

'■'The  Fifth  Scene  brings  Andrd  and  Fernande  on  the 
stage.  They  are  now  alone  for  the  first  time,  Glotilde  always 
having  contrived  to  be  present. 

Andre  asks  of  Fernande  a  confession  of  her  love,  which 
she  gives  him.  But  she  still  fears  that  Andre,  in  spiteof  Glo- 
tilde's assurance  to  her,  does  not  know  of  that  one  episode  in 
her  life,  as  he  always  speaks  of  her  innocence.  Andrd  tak^esi 
leave  of  her  with  an  avowal  that  he  loves  her  dearly.  Tj 

In  the  Sixth  Scene  Fernande  is  at  first  alone ;  she  cannot 
rid  herseK  of  the  idea  that  Andre  does  -aot  know  her  secrete 
Glotilde  enters;     Fernande  says  to  her:    "  Oh,  Madame,  you 
have  deceived  me!" 
;^- 'Glotilde:  "Deceived?"  '.   ;^{d 

Fernande':    "  When   you  told  mcv' Andre  loves   you/ki 
asks  for  your  hand,'  what  did  I  reply  then,  '  never. '^''       '  • 


t^ 


Clotildc  attempts  to  remove  her  suspicions  by  saying: 
"And  you  are  astonished  that  he  keeps  his  word?  Do  you 
not  feel  this  great  tenderness  that  makes  him  appear  ignorant 
so  that  you  may  not  blush  ?" 

Still  Fernande  is  resolved  to  confess  everything  and  writes 
to  him  in  spite  of  Clotilde's  resistance.  "  What  madness  !  " 
Clotilde  says.  "Do  consider!  Think  of  him,  of  his  happi- 
ness, and  of  that  of  your  mother !  " 

Fernande  replies  that  she  will  not  deceive  the  man  she 
loves  so  well.  "  Though  I  am  not  virtuous,  I  am  upright !  It 
is  the  only  honor  that  is  left  to  me." 

Therese  bears  the  letter  to  the  Marquis,  and  now  Clotilde 
is  unhappy  for  having  destroyed  her  lover's  joy  as  well  as  her 
own.  She  prays  that  he  will  pardon  her.  Just  then  hp 
appears,  ready  for  the  wedding. 

Fernande,  believing  that  he  has  already  read  the  letter, 
asks  him  once  more  if  he  loves  her.    He  declares  that  he  does. 

"  And  in  return  for  all  your  kindness  and  love  I  have  only 
my  heart  to  give  you." 

'  Quite  happy  she  now  hastens  to  dress  for  the  wedding. 

In  the  Next  Scene  Clotilde  succeeds  in  inducing  the  Mar- 
quis to  return  to  her  Fernande's  letter  before  he  has  read  it. 
"You  would  spoil  the  pleasure  it  will  give  me  to  have  you 
read  it  afterwards."  Andr^  unsuspectingly  returns  her  the 
letter. 

'  Therese  announces  that  Fernande  is  expecting  Andr^  who 
leaves  after  having  asked  Clotilde  to  follow  soon.  She 
replies  that  she  first  wishes  to  see  Pomerol.  Clotilde  is  alone, 
and  watches  the  happy  couple  as  they  enter  their  carriage  to  be 
driven  to  the  banquet  hall.  She  rejoices  at  the  expected  suc- 
cess of  her  diabolical  plan.  "  How  much  longer  my  sufferings 
are  to  last  I  do  not  know ;  but  yours,  miserable  fellow,  shall 
last  forever ! " 

Pomerol,  who  appears  now  to  take  Clotilde  to  the  wed- 
ding, is  detained  by  her  until  they  are  too  late  for  the 
wedding.  Finally  Clotilde  unfolds  to  Pomerol  her  plan  of 
revenge.     Pomerol,  amazed   at  her  wickedness,  gains  posses- 


sion  of  the  letter,  and  locks  her  up  in  a  room,. as  the  wedding 
party  is  returning.  This  is  the  safest  way  to  prevent  her  from 
executing  her  plan.  Before  the  company  he  excuses  her  by- 
saying  she  is  suffering  from  nervousness  which  made  it  impos- 
sible for  her  to  attend.    She  is  still  unwell  and  can  see  no  pne. 

Pomerol  avoids  speaking  to  Fernande  in  order  not  to  pain 
her,  and  urges  Andre  to  depart  quickly  on  the  wedding  trip^ 
As  they  depart  Andre  puts  Clotilde  in  the  care  of  Pomerol,\^^ 

Pomerol:  "  Never  fear,  I  shall  watch  over  her!  "  (When 
alone).  "To-day  I  could  save  her,  but  to-morrow?" 


ACT  IV. 

The  salon  of  the  young  couple.  Mad.  de  Brionne,.  fhe 
baron,  the  baroness,  the  general  and  an  old  lady  are  playing 
at  whist.  Fernande  serves  the  tea  in  her  graceful  manner, 
Georgette  once  again  is  looking  for  her  husband  and  is  jeal- 
ous, as  she  thinks  she  is  on  the  trail  of  a  secret,  although,  the 
letter  which  has  aroused  her  suspicions  smells  of  tobacco  and 
the  characters  are  those  of  a  man. 

The  conversation  is  about  many  things  and  we  learn  that 
Clotilde  since  the  young  couple's  return  has  gone  on  a  voyage 
and  that  Pomerol  is  frequently  away  on  secret  missions.^  ^^i 

In  the  Next  Scene  Pomerol  appears.  Georgette  imrhedi- 
ately  has  a  tiff  with  him. 

Thereupon  Civry  appears  and  relates  that  he  has  killed 
Anatole,  a  quondam  guest  of  Madame  Senechal,  in  a  duel,'   ' 

Upon  his  relating  how  Pomerol  saved  him  from  getting 
into  bad  company,  Fernande  becomes  faint.  Pomerol  imme- 
diately is  master  of  the  situation;  he  knows  there  is  no  danger, 
as  Civry  has  not  seen  Fernande  when  he  called  at  Madame 
Senechal's. 

After  Pomerol  has  promised  the  servant  two  thousand 
francs  if  he  can  prevent  Clotilde  from  seeing  the  Marquis  on 
the  d^y  following,  he  leaves  with  the  rest  of  the  company. 


Andr^  is  alone,  as  Fernandc  has  retired.     Clotilda  ,  man- 

'  ages  to  take  advantac^e  of  this  propitious  moment  and  dis- 

■.  closes  the  secret  of   Fernande's  life  to  him.      The  Marquis 

forbids  Clotilde  to  ever  enter  hisf  house,  again,   as  he  is  con- 

.   vinced  of  his  wife's  innocence;  but  on   Clotilde  maintaining 

the   truth    of   her    assertion,  he   sends  for  his  wife,  and  her 

demeanor  removes  all  doubts  as  to  the  truth  of  Clotilde's 

charge.     Fernande,  unable  to  move  is,  at  Andre's  command, 

.  led  to  her  room.     Suddenly  Pomerol  appears  on  the  scene. 

With  the  proofs — Fernande's  letter — in  his  possession  he  is 

enabled  to  convince  Andr6  of  his  wife's  purity. 

Pomerol:  "Real  virtue  is  full  of  indulgence  for  sin,  full 
of  pity  for  repentance." 

When  Andr6  speaks  of  the  talk'  and  the  s'lent  sneers  of 
the  world  Pomerol  replies:  "You  will  answer  these  ninnies 
that  it  is  better  to  rescue  a  girl  from  the  downward  path  than 
to  encourage  her  to  continue  on  her  way,  as  they  are  doing. 
To  those  wives  who  do  not  always  pay  for  their  toilets  with 
their  husband's  money,  you  will  reply  that  a  fallen  one  who 
rises  again,  is  worthier  of  respect  than  the  one  who  stands 
but  lowers  herself." 

:Jinally  Andr6  says:  "Oh,  friend,  in  the  future  she  will  no 
^  longer  be  my  wife  in  body,  but  the  wife  of  my  soul !" 
■While   he   speaks   the   last  words,  Fernande  has  entered 
and  attempts  to  leave  the  room  unnoticed.       Pomerol   keeps 
her  back. 

In  the  last  scene  Fernande  asks-  Pomerol  to  let  her  go  as 
-    Andr^   does  not   believe   in    her  innocence  nor  that  she  had 
written  all  to  him  before  their  marriage. 

It  is  then  that  Pomerol  takes  the  letter  out  of  his  pocket, 
reads  it  to  Andr^  and  explains  how  they  both  were  victims  of 
Clotilde's  revenge. 

Fernande  once  more  reads  thfe  letter  to  him  kneeling 
before  him,  and  now  Andrd  is  convinced  of  the  real  purity 
and  innocence  of  his  wife.        •' 

"Oh,  Margaret,  my  wife;  tise!  Rise,  Madame  la  Marquise, 
your  place  is  at  my  side."  .  w 


ELEONORA   DUSE. 


a  SHORT  time  ago  "  La  i)use"  was  simply  the  greatest 
tragedienne  of  Italy  where  all  people  knew  her  name  and 
fame ;  and  where  they  would  not  have  thought  of  com- 
paring another  artiste  to  her.  Since  then  one  year  has  passed 
— a  short  time  in  the  struggle  for  fame  and  glory,  yet  in  that 
brief  spell  Eleonora  Duse  has  excited  the  enthusiasm  of  Europe, 
-and  is  about  to  ask  the  judgment  of  the  American  people. 

Those  who  know  Eleonora  Duse  mention  her  youth  and 
beauty..  She  is  now  thirty-two  years  old,  but  who  can  say 
whether  she  is  beautiful  or  not  ?  On  the  stage  she  is  beautiful, 
but  she  is  homely  too ;  she  is  tall  and  she  is  small ;  she  is  young 
and  old ;  awkward  and  delicate ;  apathetic  and  nervous.  She 
is — whatever  her  part  demands.  What  no  artist  before  her 
possessed  is  hers.  She  has  an  incomparable  power  over  her  nerves 
and  muscles.  In  sinking  her  joersonality  in  the  poet's  conception 
she  fascinates,  almost  hypnotizes  us. 

Most  of  our  modern  actors  lack  this  wonderful  adaptability. 
Their  interpretations  reflect  their  individuality.  We  see  through 
all  their  own  persons  and  mannerisms.  Eleonora  Duse  in  repress- 
ing her  own  self  shows  the  character  as  created  by  the  author. 
It  seems  as  though  she  had  appropriated  to  herself  all  the  subtle 
I)hases  of  human  sentiment,  and  the  facility  with  which  she  realizes 
the  author's  ideas  is  unrivalled.  Thus  the  poet's  conception  grows 
and  develops  itself  before  our  enraptured  eyes.  Having  become 
accustomed  to  see  our  playwrights  adapt  their  characters  to  the 
personalities  of  our  actors,  her  method  of  acting  is  distinctive. 
The  modulations  of  her  voice,  her  carriage,  her  manners  differ 
with  the  occasion.  She  has  not  her  special  days  or  scenes,  her 
humors  or  caprices.  Every  time  she  acts  the  same  i)art  in  the 
same  way,  not  on  account  of  any  mechanical  retentiveness  of 
memory,  but  because  she  grows  every  time  into  the  part  that  is 
to  be  represented. 

But  it  is  hiard,  almost  impossible,  to  suggest  an  idea  of 
this  wonderful  woman, who  seems  to  have  surmounted  the 
boundaries  that  separate  nature  from   art. 

Who  is  Eleonora  Duse? 


She  was  born  at  Vigevano,  a  small  town  between  Piedmont 
and  Lombardy.  Her  talent  is  hereditary,  her  father  and  grand- 
father having  been  actors  of  no  mean  ability. 

The  grandfather,  Luigi  Duse,  was  thoroughly  legitimate  in 
his  work.  He  recited  in  Venetian  dialect,  a  new  line  in  those 
days  and  afterwards  taken  up  by  Morolin  at  Veceni  and  at  Milan 
by  Ferravilla. 

This  Duse  established  the  Garibaldi  Theatre  at  Padua.  ' '  Sor 
Duse"  was  his  popular  Venetian  name.  The  life  of  Eleonora 
Duse,  the  granddaughter,  has  been  one  of  bitter  struggles  against 
poverty  and  the  obstacles  of  unfavorable  environment. 

Habit  was  her  first  school ;  habit  tlie  initiation  of  her  artistic 
life.  Perhaps  never  in  the  days  of  her  childhood  did  Eleonora 
Duse  say,  "I  want  to  be  an  actress. "  Perhaps  no  symptom  of 
that  irresistible  desire  which  is  the  usual  beginning  of  every 
triumphant  career,  foretold  to  her — not  even  in  the  hours  of  her 
most  fantastic  and  audacious  childish  projects — the  glory  that 
to-day  reilects  upon  her  sorrowful  childhood. 

She  was  scarcely  twelve  years  old  when  she  was  working 
almost  day  and  night  ui)on  the  stage  in  obscure  theatres,  those 
sad  and  grotesque  asylums  of  inferior  companies.  Her  wages^ 
represented  the  most  important  item  in  the  income  of  her  not 
well-to-do  family.  Those  were  days  of  toil  and  suffering,  when, 
weak  from  lack  of  sufficient  food,  she  had  to  undergo  the 
exhausting  fatigues  of  the  stage,  and  her  chief  reward  was  the 
applause  of  an  audience  richer  in  emotions  than  in  gold  and 
silver.  Often  while  suffering  the  pangs  of  hunger,  the  young- 
girl,  strengthened  by  her  ambition  and  love  of  family,  hid  her 
l^ersonal  pains  in  the  character  of  the  sweetheart  of  Paolo  to  be 
killed  by  Lancelot,  whilst  declaiming  the  sweet,  guilty  love  of 
Francesca  da  Rimini. 

Nor  was  she  compensated  by  being  feted  as  an  infant  wonder. 
Indeed,  siie  was  almost  compelled  to  conceal  her  youth  from  both 
manager  and  public,  lest  it  might  produce  a  doubt  in  their  minds, 
that  the  repertoire  of  dramas  and  tragedies  were  entirely  unsuited- 
to  her  tender  years.  The  pressing  need  of  money  weighed  not 
only  on  her  genius  but  on  her  mind  and  spirits  which,  notwith- 
standing the  sufferings  of  a  life  of  toil,  were  naturally  gay,  cer- 
tainly not  due  to  the  wearing,  exhaustive  work  of  the  tragedienne, 
but  to  open-air  exercise  and  the  mirth  and  mischief  of  a  noisy 
company.  Still  she  developed  force  of  spirit.  She  combined  the 
manner  of  the  adult  woman  with  that  of  the  thoughtful  chikl. 
Almost  unknown  to  herself  she  became  absorbed  in  her  pr.rt,  and. 


the  woman  inoculated  the  child  with  strong  emotions  which 
deprived  her  gestures,  her  face,  her  voice  of  all  childishness,  and 
touched  her  audiences  and  caused  her  companions  to  wonder. 
Thus  the  germs  of  a  great  actress  grew  in  the  little  wandering 
comedienne. 

When  representing  Francesca  da  Rimini  or  Caxerina  in 
Angelo,  tyrant  of  Padua,  she  divined  rather  than  comprehended 
the  sentiment  of  the  dramatic  poetry  of  Silvio  Pellico  and  Victor 
Hugo,  and  she  aroused  the  wildest  enthusiasm  which,  even  though 
emanating  from  audiences  of  little  culture,  marked  not  simply  the 
girl  prodigy,  but  a  phenomenal  jjromise  of  future  greatness. 

After  Silvio  Pellico  and  Victor  Hugo  she  turned  her  attention 
to  Shakesi^eare,  whom  she  soon  understood  perfectly.  She  had 
scarcely  completed  her  sixteenth  year  when  she  acted  the  tragedy 
of  the  sublime  poem  Romeo  and  Juliet  with  infinite  sweetness  of 
passion. 

Eleonora  Duse  had  not  then  ceased  to  be  the  leading  lady  in 
wandering  companies.  The  representation  of  the  Shakesperian 
tragedy  took  place  in  an  open  theatre,  the  Arena  of  Verona,  in 
the  very  city  where  the  story  of  the  two  lovers,  faithful  unto 
death,  is  popular  tradition ;  in  that  very  city  where  the  garrulous 
citizens  of  the  lower  class  point  with  pride  to  the  tomb  contain- 
ing the  dust  of  the  love-sick  Juliet. 

The  theatre  was  crowded  with  a  good-natured  audience,  less 
concerned  with  Shakesx^eare  than  with  the  dear  legend.  The 
legend  seemed  reality.  The  actress  did  not  declaim  or  recite  the 
part  of  Juliet^  but  was  Juliet  herself — the  true,  the  only  Juliet 
— come  back  to  life.  The  Arena  of  Verona  resounded  with 
frantic  applause ;  the  actress  was  called  and  recalled.  Her 
triumph  was   complete. 

But  the  triumph  of  Verona  did  not  suffice  to  make  her  famous 
in  Italy  nor  to  obtain  for  her  an  engagement  with  a  leading 
dramatic  company.  Her  artistic  life  was  still  one  of  painful 
and  struggling  vagabondage.  At  this  time  Eleonora  Duse,  as 
yet  but  little  known  in  Italy,  made  a  tour  of  Dalmatia,  but 
always  as  before,  in  the  minor  theatres.  Even  in  this  strange 
land  she  was  successful.  On  the  picturesque  shores  of  the 
Adriatic  she  found  and  enjoyed  all  the  beauties  of  nature,  but 
alas !  the  turning-point  in  her  career  had  not  yet  arrived. 

And  by  a  strange  contradiction  of  fate  she,  the  dreamer  of 
Venice,  of  that  silent,  mysterious,  melancholy  city  of  Italy,  was 
first  comprehended  and  acknowledged  as  a  great  actress  in  the 
gayest,  liveliest,  most  beautiful  of  Italian  cities — Naples. 


It  seemed  as  though  in  this  metropolis  where  the  theatre  has 
most  ancient  and  honorable  traditions,  Eleonora  Duse  was  to 
lind  an  intelligent  appreciation  of  her  genius.  At  Naples  she 
found  a  respectable  stage  and  company  and  a  discerning  public. 
At  Naples  she  trod  the  same  boards — those  of  the  old  Florentine 
Theatre — upon  which  had  shone  Adam  Alberti,  Salvini,  Bellotti- 
Bon,  Madame  Cazzola,  Ristori,  and  the  greatest  personalities  of 
the  Italian  stage.  At  Naples  she  felt  herself  to  be  justly 
and  intrinsically  valued.  At  Naples  she  became  conscious  of 
her  own  capabilities. 

The  grreat  characteristic  of  Eleonora  Duse,  and  one  which 
raises  her  above  all  her  contemporaries  is  the  manner  in 
which  she  eliminates  all  artifice,  method  and  everything 
indeed  that  partakes  of  the  artificial,  in  her  life  upon  the 
stage.  Even  at  the  cost  of  displeasing  the  majority  of  a  mixed 
crowd  of  spectators  and  forfeiting  applause,  she  will  not 
aid  her  portrayals  by  resorting  to  those  sham  elaborations 
by  which  actors  think  they  may  transform  themselves  into 
the  persons,  whom,  for  a  few  hours,  they  represent.  Truth 
is  her  goal  ;  it  is  also  her  path.  With  her  it  is  ever  present. 
She  thoroughly  conquers  truth  without  catering  to  the 
public  caprice  or  her  own  womanly  vanity  or  the  world  of 
illusion  belonging  to  stage  life.  She  sees  the  truth  ;  she  feels 
it.  Yet  it  is  subjective  truth.  And  of  sorrow,  the  grand 
motive  of  feminine  action  upon  the  stage,  she  is  the  truest 
exponent. 

She  has  resuscitated  Dumas' s  La  Femme  de  Claude,  and 
has  caused  it  to  be  applauded  by  the  public  that  had  formerly 
<;ondemned  it. 

It  is  easily  understood  how  and  why  the  revelations  of  this  art 
have  revolutionized  the  theatrical  world  of  Europe,  first  exciting 
the  curiosity  of  her  various  audiences,  and  gradually  provoking 
them  to  enthusiasm.  Under  the  management  of  Commendator 
Cesare  Rossi  she  gave  at  Venice  a^  most  vivid  demonstration  of 
her  power,  interpreting  the  part  of  that  very  original  type  of 
combined  honesty  and  ferocity,  the  Princess  of  Bagdad.  And 
very  soon  the  most  difficult  and  audacious  French  repertoires 
had  in  her  an  interpreter  both  subtle  and  powerful — an  interpre-. 
ter  who  at  the  same  time  knew  how  to  purify  them  of  all  the 
effects  indispensable  to  success  in  Paris. 

She  renewed  in  an  exquisite  manner  Marguerite  Gautier,  that 
always  fascinating  heroine  of  Dumas.  She  put  new  life  into  and 
humanized  Clotilde  in  the  drama  Fernande,  in  which  the  vin 


dictive  hatred  of  an  enamored  woman  has  the  persistence,  the 
patience,  the  deliberation  which  scorn  impossibilities. 

Continuing  this  kind  of  corrective  and  molding  work  she 
succeeded  even  in  elevating  characters  which  had  hitherto  been 
failures  in  the  countries  of  their  respective  authors,  and  she 
obtained  enthusiastic  applause  in  Europe  for  that  audacious 
incarnation  of  feminine  atrocities,  the  Femme  de  Claude,  of 
Dumas,  and  compelled  appreciation  of  the  worth  of  that  highly 
philosophical  but  little  theatrical  U Abbesse  de  Jouarre,  of 
Renan. 

She  passed  from  nervousness  to  the  solemnity  of  philosophy, 
arbitrarily  applied  to  the  theatre,  and  from  philosophy  to  the 
merry  coquetry  of  Parisian  comedy — aristocratic  as  in  Francil- 
lon  risque  as  in  D  Ivor  cons.  From  Parisian  comedy  she  passed 
to  the  purely  Italian  art  of  Carlo  Goldoni,  who  in  the  delicious 
simplicity  of  her  acting  found  a  new  type  of  youth,  of  happy 
and  smiling  beauty. 

Whilst  she  api^lied  herself  with  such  profitable  activity  to  the 
modem  theatre  she  gave  at  the  same  time  her  scrupulous  atten- 
tion to  Shakespeare.  She  felt  more  deeplythan  ever  the  infinite 
love  of  Juliet ;  immersed  herself  in  the  suave,  fluctuating  mad- 
ness of  Ophelia  ;  brought  upon  the  stage  the  beautiful  and  fatal 
Cleojpatra. 

After  having  seen  Eleonora  Duse  in  Shakesj)eare's  Anthony 
and  Cleopatra,  it  may  be  possible  to  get  an  idea  of  the  great 
range  of  this  actress'  genius.  Her  Cleopatra  is  the  most  perfect 
incarnation  of  that  famous  historical  woman — that  superb  creation 
of  Shakespeare's  genius.  One  feels  one's  self  under  a  spell, 
seeing  the  beautiful  Egyptian  with  her  bronzed  face,  glancing  in 
violent,  almost  brutish  passion  uj^on  Anthony,  in  whose  embrace 
she  is  lingering. 

And  it  is  notable  how,  interpreting  the  tragic  repertoire,  she 
succeeded  in  substituting  her  simple  and  grave  recitation  for 
the  stilted  language  of  the  classic  drama.  The  abolition  of 
declamatory  speech  in  tragedy  is  one  of  the  greatest  results  of 
this  reforming  work  of  Eleonora  Duse. 

And  during  this  immense  work  of  reform,  public  and  critics 
alike  united  in  applauding  and  praising.  And  she,  thrusting 
aside  the  unsuitable,  keeping  the  valuable,  reading,  studying, 
selecting,  has  never  consented  to  interpret  a  part  in  which  shfe  did 
not  find  herself  capable  of  that  psychological  elaboration — that 
assimilation  which  is  the  secret  of  her  art. 

Eleonora    Duse,    the     unerring    portrayer   of    the    truth. 


has  never  renounced  and  never  will  renounce  upon  the 
stage  that  perfect  charm  which  Alexandre  Dumas  in  one  of 
his  brilliant  prefaces  pronounces  as  being,  in  a  theatre,  more 
necessary  than  truth. 

But  there  is  the  difference :  Dumas  wants  charm  at  any  rate, 
on  any  condition ;  Duse  on  the  contrary  wants  and  obtains  charm 
through  the  medium  of  truth. 

Alexandre  Dumas  and  Duse  are  personally  unknown  to  each 
other,  yet  they  may  well  be  called  good  friends.  The  unexpected 
success  of  La  Femme  de  Claude  united  them  in  an  agreeable 
exchange  of  correspondence.  And  later  Dumas,  grateful  to  her 
for  the  artistic  renewal  of  this  particular  play,  created  for 
lier  a  Denise,  whose  tormented  and  noble  innocence  harassed, 
l^ut  not  soiled  by  crime,  counterbalanced  in  the  artistic  budget 
of  Dumas  and  in  that  of  Duse  the  depravities  of  the  Femme  de 
Claude. 

In  a  new  edition  of  his  TJieatre  Complet  just  issued  in  Paris 
Dumas  says:  "There  is  in  this  new  edition  of  Princess  oj 
Bagdad  an  amendation  in  the  last  scene.  Neither  I  nor  the 
French  actress  who  created  this  part  in  Paris  suggested  it,  al- 
though it  is  now,  as  we  see,  irrefutable  and  irresistible.  It  was 
Eleonora  Duse,  the  admirable  Italian  tragedienne,  now  exciting 
the  enthusiasm  of  Vienna,  who  had  this  inspiration  when 
she  played  the  part  in  Rome.  I  have  changed  it  definitely  and 
for  ever,  but  the  honor  and  the  merit  are  hers.  I  wish  to  thank 
her,  and  I  feel  called  upon  to  do  so  publicly  for  introducing  two 
of  my  plays,  never  played  before  her,  into  the  Italian  theatre. 
It  is  to  be  regretted  for  our  French  dramatic  art  that  this  unsur- 
passed artiste  is  not  French." 

There  is  nothing  further  to  say.  In  the  noble  lineaments  of 
.her  pallid  face  there  is  sometimes  the  expression  of  weariness, 
sometimes  the  fierceness  of  hate,  the  tenderness  of  affection,  the 
spasm  of  anguish,  the  joy  of  triumph,  mirrored  with  that  ver- 
satility and  admirable  precision  belonging  to  great  artistes. 

No  one  can  make  such  sudden  and  quick  changes  of  expres- 
sion as  Eleonora  Duse,  or  with  simpler  means.  A  hasty,  un- 
expected turn  of  the  eyes,  a  movement  of  the  head,  a  curl  of 
the  lips  that,  with  a  sarcastic  smile  concealing  her  tears,  give 
expressions  continually  different  and  continually  new  to  her  face, 
except  when  a  sudden  blush — a  blush  natural  and  true  caused 
by  the  agitation  of  passion — diffuses  it  with  color  and  modifies 
aiid  transforms  it  exactly  as  the  action  demands. 

Antonio  Bracco. 


Qrrand  and  ^ppight  Fianes 

Are  preferred   for  public  aii«l    private  use   by   all    tUe  great  ArttKt»«  of  tlie   world, 

and  aiuonj;  Iiuiidreds  of  expressed  opinions  as  to  tlieir  unrivalled 

qualitieisi,    tlio    following    luay    bo    referred    to. 


From  FBAjYZ  LISZT. 

Messrs.  STEINWAY  &  SONS. 

Gents  :  The  magnificent  Steinway  Grand  Piano  now  stands  in  my  music  room  and  presents 

a  harmonic  totality  of  admirable  qualities,  a  detailed  enumeration  of  which  is  the  more  superfluous  as 

this  instrument  fully  justifies  the  world-wide  reputation  that  for  years  you  have  everywhere  enjoyed. 

After  so  much  well-deserved  praise,  permit  me  also  to  add  my  homage  and  the  expression  of  my 

undisguised  admiration,  with  which  I  remain, 

Very  sincerely  yours, 

FRANZ  LISZT. 

From  AXTOK  RUBmSTEm. 

New  York,  May  24,   1873. 
Messrs.  STEINWAY  &  SONS. 

Gentlemen  :  On  the  eve  of  returning  to  Europe,  I  deem  it  my  pleasant  duty  to  express  to  you 
my  most  heartfelt  thanks  for  all  the  kindness  and  courtesy  you  have  shown  me  during  my  stay  in  the 
United  States  ;  but  also,  and  above  all,  for  your  unrivalled  pianofortes,  which  once  more  have  done 
full  justice  to  their  world-wide  reputation,  both  for  excellence  and  capacity  of  enduring  the  severest 
trials.  For,  during  all  my  long  and  diiificult  journeys  all  over  America,  in  a  very  inclement  season,  I 
used,  and  have  been  enabled  to  use,  your  Pianos  exclusively  in  my  Two  Hundred  and  Fifteen  Concerts, 
and  also  in  private  with  the  most  eminent  satisfaction  and  effect. 

Yours  very  truly, 
ANTON  RUBINSTEIN. 

From  THEODORE  THOMAS. 

Cincinnati,  July  19th,  1879. 
Messrs.  STEINWAY  SE  SONS. 

Gentlemen  :  I  consider  the  Steinway  Piano  the  best  Piano  at  present  made,  and  that  is  tlie 
reason  why  I  use  it  in  private  and  also  in  all  my  public  concerts. 

As  long  as  the  pianos  of  Messrs.  Steinway  and  Sons  retain  that  high  degree  of  excellence  of 
manufacture,  and  those  admirable  qualities  which  have  always  distinguished  them,  I  shall  continue  to 
use  them  in  preference  to  all  other  Pianos. 

Respectfully  yours, 
-T THEODORE  THOMAS. 

From  Mme.  ABELIMA  PATTI. 

Chicago,  III.,  January  4th,  1882. 
To  Messrs.  STEINWAY  &  SONS,  New  York. 

Dear  Sirs:  Allow  me  to  express  to  you  the  great  satisfaction  and  pleasure  that  I  have 
experienced  from  the  use  of  your  famous  Pianos,  which  you  have  placed  at  my  disposal  during  the 
concert  tour  now  in  course  of  progress  in  the  United  States. 

During  my  artistic  career  in  the  art  centres  of  the  world,  I  have  used  the  Pianos  of  nearly  all 
celebrated  manufacturers,  but  none  of  them  can  be  compared  to  yours — none  possess  to  such  a  mar- 
vellous degree  that  sympathetic,  poetic  and  singing  tone  quality  which  distinguishes  the  Steinway  as 
peerless  among  them  all.  Before  returning  to  Europe,  I  shall  select  and  purchase  one  of  your 
Grand  Pianos  for  Crag-y-nos  Castle,  my  residence  in  South  Wales. 

Respectfully  yours, 

ADELINA  PATTI. 


ir<;r  I'L'blim 


»*KI10JI  TIIK  TONK  WORLD."  Es-sayi  by  l.oiis    Khlkki.     Translated  from   the  German  by 
Helen  I).   1  rciKir.     mw  I'aj;'*i  ^''"'''i  ♦'•50«     Mailed  upon  receipt  of  price,     rublishecl  by 

C.  K.  Trktbar,  109  E.  i4tli  St.,  New  York. 

STEINWAY 


i:;jiL-  I'-'  1 


Gpand 
fia 


S^Jfe 

Upright 

^     i^ian©s 

Steiiivv-ay    ..V    tsoii.-^"    l'iiiiii>s  ai*e    pi7eferi?ed    i<>v    pi-i\.il«^   itiiil    j)ublio 

U!s«  by  th«  gi-ecttest  liviiig  nrtists,  hikI  eiKlorsed, 

aixxoiiji  hundreds  of  otliers,  by  sucli  us: 


Franz  Abt, 
D.  F.  E.  AuBER, 
Carl  Baermann, 
Hector  Berlioz, 
E.  M.  Bowman, 
Felicien  David, 
Alex.  Dreyschock, 
Arthur  Friedheim, 
Charles  Gounod, 
Stephen  Heller, 
Adolphe  Henselt, 
Alfred  Jaell, 
Joseph  Joachim. 
Rafael  Joseffy, 
Theodore  Leschetizky, 
Dr.  Franz  Liszt, 
A.  Marmontel, 
Dr.  William  Mason, 
Leopold  de  Meyer, 
S.  B.  Mills, 
Ignatz  Moscheles, 
Adolphe  Neuendorff, 
Albert  Niemann, 
Ignace  J.  Paderewski, 
MoRiz  Rosenthal, 
Anton  Rubinstein, 


Nicola  Rubinstein, 
Franz  Rummel, 
Camille  Saint-Saens, 
Anton  Seidl, 
Wilhelm  Taubert, 
Ambroise  Thomas, 
Theodore  Thomas, 
Ferd.  von  Inten, 
Richard  Wagner, 
.  Rudolph  Willmers, 
Carl  Wolfsohn, 

AND  BY  MESDAMES 

Adele  Aus  Der  Ohe, 
Annette  Essipoff, 
Etelka  Gerster, 
Minnie  Hauk, 
Emma  Juch, 
Marie  Krebs, 
LiLLi  Lehmann, 
Anna  Mehlig, 
Parepa  Rosa, 
Adelina  Patti, 
Sofia  Scalchi, 
Teresa  Titiens, 
ZelieTrebelli,  (Snc. 


:^»-' 


4^ 


ILLUSTRATED  CATALOGUES  MAILED  J- RLE  OX  APPIflCATIOJV. 


Warerooms,  Steinway  Hall,  107-111  East  14th  St.,  New  York. 


KUROPKAN 

STEINWAY  HALL, 

15  «i;  17  Lower  Seymour  St.  Portman  Sq.,  W., 
LONDON,  ENGLAND. 


DKPOXS: 

STEINWAY'S  PIANOFABRIK, 

St.  Pauli,  Neue  Roscn-Strasse,  20-24. 
HAMBURG,  GERMANY. 


r/iird  Thousand.  ANTON  IIUBENSTEIN'S  new  book,  cntilled  :  "  A  Conversation  on  Music," 
translated  for  the  author  by  .Mrs.  John  P.  Morgan,  has  just  been  published.  i6ni<),  cloth,  $1.00.  Copy- 
right 1892.     For  sale  by  all  booksellers  and  music  dealers,  or  mailed  upon  receipt  of  price. 

Chas.  F.  Tketbar.  Steinway  Hall,  New  York. 


Pamphlet 
Binder 

Gaylord  Bros.,  Inc. 

Stockton,  Calif. 
T.M.  Reg.  U.S.  Pat.  Off.  1 


i 


IVll05^58 

THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
BERKELEY 

Return  to  desk  from  which  borrowed. 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


O  It 


7Jun'49Hi 


B  2  8  1955  L 


^ti^ 


%\ 


m 


m 


i 


